When Moses raised his hand to sky, the clouds grew dark, the wind ran high. A voice of thunder cracked the land, and fire and hail obeyed command.

It fell on beasts, on branches and tree, on every stalk and canopy. The fields lay bare, the trees were torn, as Egypt wept beneath the storm.

But not in Goshen, not one stone. No hail, no flame, no shattered bone. For there, beneath God’s quiet plan, His people stood while judgment ran.